Thaumaturgists
by broadwaypants
Summary: An exploration of Macavity's life and his relationships with Demeter, Munkustrap, Rum Tum Tugger, Old Deuteronomy, and Mistoffelees.
1. Demeter

_I've been wanting to explore Macavity's character for a really long time, and I finally got around to trying! This story is going to jump around a bit, spanning from Macavity's kittenhood to the Jellicle Ball all of us fans were witness to. There's also going to be a lot of background information on ancient magical cats. I'm not sure where this is going, to be honest, but I think I'll be able to get a decent story out of it._

_Disclaimer: Props to TSE! (And Al Dubs, I guess...)_

* * *

The long blades of grass tickled her chin as Demeter sat in the middle of the field, a dandelion between her teeth. Her canines had bitten small holes in the electric green stem. She felt only slightly guilty as she felt the juicy insides of the stem give under her pressure and tasted the tangy insides of the yellow plant.

This treat was not for her, after all.

Her tongue tingling with the forbidden plant's taste, Demeter raised herself into a standing position. Throwing caution to the wind (which was, ironically, rather strong today), she leapt through the green grass, careening almost haphazardly down a hillside.

The appearance of a young gray tabby made her stop in her tracks. She gasped. The dandelion fell from her mouth and fell limply to the ground as she lost her footing. She threw out her arms to catch herself – how embarrassing would it be for a cat to fall on her face? – but something got in her way.

Two fiery red paws caught her around the torso before she had so much as comprehended her situation. She blinked, trying to adjust to her new position. She felt the red paws hug her sides gently, tickling her slightly. The arms her torso was resting on were extremely furry and stick-thin.

"Mac!" she giggled in protest as she recognized the cat who had caught her. Demeter tried to turn over to look him in the face, but he lowered her to the ground and stretched himself over her before she could turn her head.

His slow breathing was pressing his stomach against her back, their bodies forming a plus sign in the grass. Feeling slightly uncomfortable – for he was a few ounces heavier – she curved her spine, mewing to show discomfort.

Macavity was off her within seconds. Turning over, finally, to lie on her back, Demeter smiled up into Macavity's black eyes.

"You scared me for a second there, Mac," she admitted, pawing nervously at her ear. Then, remembering what (who, rather) had caused her to trip, she sat up quickly and turned her gaze to a spot further down the hill. There was no sign of the gray tom.

"Where'd Munkustrap go?" Demeter's voice was a bit higher pitched. She turned to look back at Macavity, who fidgeted uncomfortably, avoiding her eye and pawing the ground.

"He, um, had to leave," Macavity's voice was low, a growl playing around in his lower throat. Demeter could see his Adam's apple pulsing unpleasantly, pushing his fur-covered skin forward.

"Oh," Demeter's voice was soft. Her eyes sank to the ground and she let out a small sigh, which she quickly took back in as she spotted a familiar yellow plant on the ground.

"This was supposed to be for you," she bent low and nudged the flower closer to Macavity with her nose. She avoided looking directly at him as he took the flower between his teeth, one of his canines – somewhat larger than hers – sinking into the small dent hers had made. "I hope you don't mind I dropped it."

She looked at Macavity's face and immediately wished she hadn't. He was smiling, but it somehow didn't quite meet his eyes. With the dandelion still between his teeth, he asked,

"What do I do with it?"

"You eat it," Demeter touched his ear fondly, barely letting her paw brush his fur. "Mom's always telling me not to eat them, because she says Jellicles don't eat weeds. But I've seen your dad eat them before, so they can't be bad, can they?"

"I guess not," Macavity's tongue wrestled with the thick stem as he spoke. Demeter watched eagerly as Macavity curled his tongue around the dandelion's stem, pulling it further into his mouth. The stem folded neatly in two. He began chewing, parts of the yellow head peeking out from his lips. The pollen collected above his upper lip, giving it a golden hue. His lips curved back over his teeth as he tried to pull the rest of the flower head into his mouth. A few tiny yellow petals escaped and fell to the ground, mingling with the hard earth.

Demeter's eyes searched Macavity's face as he chewed the tangy plant. He stuck his tongue out as he chewed with his mouth open, shifting the dandelion back towards his throat. Usually Demeter did not watch other cats when they were eating, but she was somehow entranced by the way Macavity brushed the tip of his tongue against the back of his front teeth with each successive bite.

Her heart sank as he swallowed, grimacing.

"Maybe they're an acquired taste," she said, looking at his paws. His claws were out, she noticed, leaving small imprints in the ground as he tensed his arms.

"Well I'm certainly not going to acquire the taste," Macavity's voice was laced with sarcasm. It stole the breath from Demeter's chest, and she closed her eyes. She had thought – more like hoped – that Macavity would have appreciated her gift. Hadn't she learned by now how hard the tom was to please?

Just last week, she had persuaded Macavity to join the race Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger were having around a course she and Bombalurina had set up. She had thought it would be fun for him, win or lose, but she had been wrong. Macavity had not only lost to his older brother but to Rum Tum Tugger as well, who was his junior (if only by a few minutes). The ginger tom had retreated to one of his favorite haunts, snapping at her when she had come near.

And just days before that, hadn't he turned up his nose to a half-eaten can of cat food she had saved specially for him? She felt sorry for him, having no owner to look after him like the rest of his siblings. He hadn't even thanked her for thinking of him before herself – it had been her breakfast, after all – and instead upended the can with a vicious swipe.

So it came as no surprise that he was now shoving pawfuls of grass into his mouth, groaning obnoxiously. Feeling the fur on her back prickle, Demeter turned away from her ungrateful friend, her tail brushing lightly against his nose.

She began walking, slowly this time, down the hillside, thin blades of grass sneaking underneath her to tickle her stomach. Maybe she would find another dandelion and give it to Bombalurina instead. Yes, that was a good idea. Her sister liked the yellow flowers more than she, Demeter, did.

Or maybe she would give one to Munkustrap. The gray tom was her senior by only two moons, but he was already so much smarter and matured than she was. He would accept any gift with gratitude, even if it wasn't to his fancy.

Smiling at this prospect, Demeter began to search for another one of those elusive yellow plants.

* * *

"What happened next, Uncle Skimble?"

Bombalurina was laughing at the way Rum Tum Tugger was bouncing in his seat, looking up at the Railway Cat expectantly. Demeter allowed herself a small smile at Tugger's antics, but she was also deeply interested in the story.

Skimbleshanks was not, admittedly, Rum Tum Tugger's uncle, nor was he the uncle of any of the cats present. He was older than the group of kittens by a few balls, just getting ready to choose a mate and father his own litter, but they all fondly called him 'Uncle Skimble' anyway. He was always sharing stories with them and watching them while their parents were away.

"Well, you kits will never believe this one, but there actually wasn't a turkey living in her hat!" Skimbleshanks began chuckling as he related his story. "So you'll imagine how foolish I felt, wrestling on the floor with a bunch of feathers. Now this lady was particularly kind, and instead of complaining to the stationmaster, (he's got a temper none can match!) she scoops me up in her arms, see, and says in this sing-song voice, 'Aw, isn't he the fiercest little protector you ever did see!'

"You see, kits, she had six cats of her own back at her house, and every one of them had done the same thing, some more than once!"

Rum Tum Tugger collapsed on the ground, holding his stomach as he laughed uncontrollably.

"You'll make a great father, Uncle Skimble," Munkustrap told the older tom. "Your stories are the best."

"Thank you, Munkus," Skimble said affectionately, nuzzling the smaller cat. Then, catching sight of Alonzo making to tackle Tugger, who was still laughing, he held out his arm, catching the black and white cat mid-pounce. "Alonzo," his eyes narrowed slightly, "what exactly are you doing?"

"Nothing," the tom – the youngest of the group – mumbled.

"That's what I thought."

"Will you tell us another?" Cassandra, usually the silent observer of the group, spoke up.

"Yeah, tell us the story about Vainamoinen!" Bombalurina chimed in, pronouncing the legendary name perfectly.

"That one again?" Skimble gestured for Alonzo to take a spot away from Tugger as the latter sat up, his eyes shining with excitement. Demeter involuntarily moved closer to Bombalurina, for this tale of Skimble's frightened her every single time he told it. Her sister noticed her discomfort and put a paw on Demeter's arm for support. Feeling grateful she was nestled snugly in the middle of the group, Demeter tried to relax.

"Are you sure you want to hear that one?" Skimbleshanks was just teasing them now, for his voice was sing-songy and he had cocked his head in a comical manner. "I wouldn't want to give you nightmares."

"That's not what he said the first time," Munkustrap whispered to Alonzo. "He told it to us at the end of our first Jellicle Ball, right before bedtime."

"Alright, kits, gather together–" All the kittens huddled together at Skimble's words, and Demeter tried to make herself smaller as Bombalurina and Cassandra both drew in closer. "–and prepare to hear the tale of Vainamoinen, the first of the thaumaturgists."

As Skimbleshanks began his story, his voice deepened and grew soft, so he was whispering to the kittens. They all sat silent, eyes glassed over, as they lost themselves into the tragic story of the legendary cat.

"_Vainamoinen was born centuries ago, to the parents Nneka and Abram. He was the first of their litter of five, and the only tom. The two parents were thrilled to welcome their own kittens into the world, vowing to ensure that each of their offspring would live a full and joyful life._

"_From an early age, Vainamoinen had been particularly special to his father. Not only was he the firstborn, but he was the only son. Thus, Abram was very firm with his little tom. Vainamoinen was constantly at his father's side, receiving criticism on everything from his posture to his elocution. Nneka assured Vainamoinen that his father did everything out of love, but the little tom was not able to understand this._

"_Vainamoinen began to seek refuge from his father's critical eye. He found it among the 'rough crowd,' a group of cats that were Jellicles, admittedly, but had since abandoned the Ball and other such meetings, desiring instead to seek out more pleasing activities. These activities included thievery, gambling, and thoroughly beating any unfortunate Jellicle or Pollicle that interfered._

"_It was at one of these encounters that Vainamoinen discovered his hidden talents. You see, kits, he had been dared by his group of friends to attack the first Pollicle to cross his path that night. Unfortunately for him, the first Pollicle he saw was a absolutely humongous piece of dog. He was the size of six Old Deuteronomys and at least six times as strong._

"_But when Vainamoinen tried to back down, his friends pushed him into it, nagging him and swiping at his feet. So, to the pleasure of his friends, he advanced on the Pol, claws out and teeth bared._

"_The fight started out normal enough. The Pollicle took an early lead, hitting Vainamoinen on the nose with a powerful whack. But Vainamoinen picked himself up and went right back for the Pollicle. When he was able to get a strike in, the Pollicle staggered backwards, coughing up blood._

"_Only minutes later the Pol was dead. Vainamoinen and his friends couldn't understand what had happened. He hadn't pushed the Pol very hard at all!_

"_Vainamoinen went to Abram to try and get some advice. When he heard of his son's encounter with the Pollicle, he was disappointed in his son's actions, but he vowed to help him. The two discovered together that Vainamoinen had been gifted with magical powers."_

There was a collective gasp from Bombalurina, Rum Tum Tugger, and Alonzo. Demeter, although a bit frightened, rolled her eyes. They knew what happened; they just gasped to humor Skimble.

"_The two kept Vainamoinen's powers secret for as long as they could, for they were not sure how the others would react. Vainamoinen continued with his life as normal, even taking a mate when he came of age. He fathered a sizeable little of kittens and decided to settle down as a father before anyone noticed something was different._

"_You see, kits, one of Vainamoinen's kittens had been given the same gift. It appeared in this little one at a very young age, scaring his mother half to death. Vainamoinen chose that as the time to confess._

"_However, his mate was frightened by this knowledge. One night, when Vainamoinen returned from a meeting with some other Jellicles, he found his mate and kittens missing. The only thing left in his den was the one little kitten that had shown magical ability._

"_Now Vainamoinen was very upset at this, for he had hoped that his mate would accept him for who he was. He was a bit rough around the edges, as everyone knew, but he wasn't a bad tom._

"_But it seemed that a new reputation proceeded him next time he joined the Jellicles for the yearly Ball. Whispers followed him everywhere, the kittens shrieked and skittered when he came near, and the queens wouldn't so much as look at him. (This was a particularly hard blow, for he had once been quite a queen's tom.)"_

"Like me!" Tugger piped up, fluffing his scant mane importantly. Bombalurina giggled while Munkustrap pushed Tugger over with a paw.

"_Eventually, the tension grew to be so great that it was impossible for Vainamoinen to remain with the Jellicles. He tried to leave peacefully enough, but in the end he was forced out violently by some of the older toms. When he asked why, they recounted a completely false version of his fight with the large Pollicle so many Balls ago._

"_It seemed that the other cats were under the impression that he had hunted that Pollicle down and mercilessly slaughtered it with magic for fun._

"_So Vainamoinen and his son were exiled and they lived in solitude for the remainder of Vainamoinen's Balls. It is said that in their exile the two honed their magic abilities and experimented with unfortunate creatures that crossed their paths, giving themselves quite a bad reputation. Eventually Vainamoinen died, and his son emerged from exile. Nobody recognized him as the timid little kitten from many Balls ago._

"_But Vainamoinen's son, Rhet, was not so understanding as his father before him. He built on his father's reputation as a thaumaturgist and lured queens to his den by invading their minds. He vowed vengeance on the cats that had been so cruel to him and his father._

"_Nobody knows who was the next thaumaturgist after Rhet, but the rumors say it was a kitten born to two non-magical cats. Some say Rhet kidnapped the cat as a kitten and raised him to follow in his footsteps._

"_It has become impossible to track the different thaumaturgists over the years. All anyone knows is that one is born to every generation, and that it is always a tom. This tom is normally the eldest, but this is not one hundred percent true. But one thing that is known for certain is that the tom will always look almost completely like his mother and have a very rough demeanor about him."_

With that, Skimble ended his story. Demeter and Cassandra had thrown their arms around each other in fright and Munkustrap looked like he wanted to join in but was too afraid of how it would look. Tugger and Alonzo seemed unfazed and Bombalurina looked like she was trying to put on a brave face.

"That one gets me every time too, kits," Skimble chuckled, beginning to leave. "But you know, that last part is one hundred percent true."

After Skimble's departure, Tugger and Alonzo began discussing who they thought the thaumaturgist of their generation was. Demeter only half-listened, for she had no desire to figure it out. As far as she knew, none of the toms she had ever seen looked like their mothers.

"Well, it can't be me or you," Tugger said, stating the obvious. "Dad tells me I look exactly like he did when he was a kitten, and I've seen your mom. You look nothing like her." The toms turned their heads as one to look at Munkustrap.

"What?" the tabby asked innocently, not catching on.

"So, Munkus, what did _your_ mom look like?"

"Tug!"

"What? I'm just asking!"

"But you're my _brother_! You know I'm not a thaumat… thauma-whatever."

"Gosh, Munkus, I was kidding!"

Bombalurina let out a squeal when Munkustrap pounced on Rum Tum Tugger, his mouth fastening on the small mane Tug was so proud of. He pulled on it playfully, and the two brothers began rolling on the ground, Tugger reaching for Munkus's ear with his teeth.

"Where's Macavity?" Demeter wondered aloud, suddenly noticing the ginger tom's absence. She looked around her, wondering if he was hiding. Had he really not come to hear Skimble's stories? It was a tradition all of the kittens always kept to, so what could he be doing?


	2. Macavity

_This chapter is heavily inspired by _Phantom_. If anoyone had read Susan Kay's masterpiece, they'll get it almost immediately. I basically gave Macavity one of Erik's more dangerous talents, but no, he does not have the voice of an angel!_

_Disclaimer: Props to TSE!! (And Al Dubs, I guess...)_

* * *

He lay, ginger body stretched over a slightly stained velvet cushion, slowly running his claws over a long piece of wood he had found earlier that day. His eyes were like slits, seeing everything but leaving everyone sure he was in a dazed state of unconsciousness.

Oh, how he relished these moments of rare peace and ecstasy!

He flexed his paws, his eyes rolling back as his claws began to caress the wood in a deathly powerful scratch. He could feel it resisting, but like everything else it would yield to his grasp. He prized the first moment of impact with his claws, the first dent made in the perfect surface.

Macavity loved to mark things as his own.

He had always had a strange fancy for owning things and making sure they knew who owned them. From an early age he took to scratching long, sharp lines into everything that pleased him. But back then that didn't include living beings.

What a silly little tom he had been then, thinking that trust and friendship were enough to bond another to him. He had learned long since then that the only way to mark something for your own was to physically leave a mark.

Macavity could feel the tension in the air and fed on it like a parasite. He sucked in anxiety and fear and let them swim around in his lungs before being expelled in a dank black cloud that engulfed any who dared to come near.

Two of his henchcats were stationed just inside his den now, their stiff bodies standing erect in almost laughable severity. But Macavity did not -- would not! -- laugh. He, the Napoleon of Crime, the Hidden Paw, the Mystery Cat had a reputation to uphold, and he would not let a little enjoyment ruin it.

"Bring her in," was all he said, carelessly flinging the piece of defiled wood with such aggression that both of the henchcats jumped. It made quite a bang as it hit the walls of stone and slid down to rest on the dirt ground. Small particles of wood -- the shavings from his clawing, no doubt -- drifted slowly in the air around him, one landing on his nose.

Rather than shake the particle away, Macavity licked his nose, feeling the splinter sink into his tongue. His eyes rolled backwards in ecstasy, savoring the salty taste the blood brought to his mouth. Very discreetly, he pulled the small particle out of his tongue and flicked the now red splinter to the ground with one sharp claw.

His attention was captured by the sound of a scuffle outside the entrance to his den. He turned his head lazily to see two new henchcats enter, dragging a magnificent queen with them.

"Ah," he purred deeply, betraying his pleasure at the sight of her face. "I can't tell you how much effort it took to find you, my dear. You should be very proud of yourself. Running from the Hidden Paw is not an achievement no fool could hope to reach."

His voice was low and deep, his practice of ventriloquism allowing it to wrap around the queen in a strangling embrace, brushing against her exquisite fur in a way Macavity had never tried. He watched, pleased, as her eyes closed, not in fear, but an undeniable pleasure.

"Yes, you like the sound of my voice, don't you," Macavity waved one paw, signaling for the henchcats to exit. He picked himself up off the cushion and began to walk over to the queen who now sat entranced by the sound of his voice. "It does have a certain sense of power, does it not?"

He was close enough to touch her now, and yet she remained oblivious of his intentions. Her eyes remained closed and Macavity noticed her claws were out, slowly tensing and relaxing in time with his voice inflection.

"You see, dear, the Hidden Paw possesses a voice like no other, powers of _persuasion_ like no other. My deep, low rumble has entranced -- even seduced --" Here the queen's back arched and she let out a small moan, "-- many queens stronger than yourself."

She was all his now, his for the taking. All he had to do was reach out and grab her paw and lead her down into the dizzying black hole that awaited them.

Macavity began tracing her outline with his paws, moving as carefully as if he was a master sculptor lovingly caressing a finished piece. With each swoop of his paws through the air, he added another swoop to his voice until it elicited the desired reaction.

Without the slightest touch, he had driven the queen onto his velvet cushion, lying on her back in a provocative position. He knew she would never consciously act in this manner, displaying herself for a tom, but he wanted to see what her future mate was in store for, what she was capable of.

He wanted her to learn, to please him. To be broken in.

How close he was to her now! Barely breathing, he began crawling onto the cushion as well, crawling on top of her but not making any physical contact. Her ragged breathing played about his neck, tickling him with its light touch and flowery scent.

She really was a jewel, this one. A pure diamond glistening among a tribe of mud-streaked pebbles. He had only to drop a single black dot into that diamond to make her as his own, to claim her from any other tom forever. His claws were aching terribly, as if they were going to swell up and fall from his paws. His whiskers twitched, longing to mingle with her own in a forest of passion.

It would only take a second, and the pain would subside in time, even though the mark would remain forever on her… inside her.

For none was Macavity's for the taking unless it had been marked first.

* * *

"Skimble, tell me about Rhet again!" Macavity whined, his paws aching from following Skimbleshanks around, begging for a story.

"Mac, I can't," Skimble's voice was strained but apologetic. "I promised Jenny I'd be back before twilight. You know how big she's getting…"

"Please, Uncle Skimble," Macavity pressed, fastening one ginger paw on Skimble's arm. "I didn't get to hear it last time."

"And you don't think you're getting a little too old for these stories?" Skimble asked sarcastically, cuffing Macavity fondly on the ear.

"No!" Macavity insisted. He was quite a bit older than he had been all those Balls ago when he had first learned of his abilities, but he never tired of Skimble's stories about Vainamoinen and his son Rhet. Now, almost out of his kittenhood, Macavity still curled up into a tight ball, his tail flicking viciously, and listened in silence to all of Skimbleshanks's stories.

"All right," Skimble conceded at last, gesturing for Macavity to join him in a nook of the junkyard between an old mattress and a long abandoned bookshelf. Macavity snuggled up on the ground, his back resting against the mattress, while Skimble took a spot opposite him.

"What do you want to hear about Rhet, then?" Skimbleshanks asked.

"Tell me the one about how he came to find himself," Macavity requested, not at all ashamed of his liking for the gory tale.

"You always did like the horror tales best," Skimbleshanks shook his head, but cleared his throat and began the story.

_"Rhet returned to the Jellicles not long after his father's death. Nobody recognized him as Vainamoinen's son, one of the dreaded thaumaturgists, so he was able to slip easily back into the group under a false name._

_"As you know, each Jellicle has three names: the family name, their Jellicle name, and their personal name that will remain hidden. Rhet pretended to have adopted a family's name: Percival._

_"Under the guise of a domestic housecat, Rhet became well-loved in the tribe. He made sure to always say a kind word to the kittens to win over the queens and listened to the tales of the older Jellicles. This was how he was able to find out more information about his father's childhood._

_"This was also when he found his mother. She was very old now, suffering from arthritis and completely blind. Rhet heard her story, how she had left him and his father out of fear, before meeting her. When the two finally encountered each other, Rhet treated her with indifference bordering on contempt that shocked the others. Eventually Rhet was able to gloss over this first reaction, but from then on the elder Jellicles became wary of the seemingly perfect tom._

_"They became even more suspicious when his mother disappeared, but none of them dared do anything about it. They were terrified at what a thaumaturgist was capable of and none wanted Rhet to reveal himself._

_"He remained as Percival, took a mate, and fathered a litter. His kittens turned out to have no magical ability, so the tribe began to relax, deciding that a couple coincidences were not enough to convict a near-perfect tom._

_"But Rhet had not converted to the life of the Jellicles, far from it. He took on a double life, a doting mate and father under the Jellicle Moon and a perverted mastermind and murderer. He had a hunger for all things obscene and horrific that steadily grew to be insatiable. Rhet became careless, letting his real identity slip into Percival's persona._

_"When the Jellicles finally opened their eyes to see the terrible truth, it was too late to make amends and accept him as one of their own. He had committed crimes that were unspeakable, unfathomable, for a Jellicle. They knew they were dealing with a very twisted mind._

_"Rather than have things escalate to a fight, Rhet left the tribe on day, never to return. Nobody is sure why he chose not to hurt them, but it was widely accepted that he did not want to hurt any of his kittens. One of them may have been hiding a magical ability that had yet to develop._

_"After Rhet departed, he went into withdrawal, deeply conflicted. As much as he tried to convince himself that he hated the Jellicles for what they had done to his father, he could not deny the wonderful stories he had heard and the unforgettable fun he had had. He even still felt twinges of affection for his mate from time to time, and there was a fierce and burning love for his kittens. These feelings combined with his old hatred caused the tom so much distress that he turned to the only release he knew._

_"Queens."_

Here Skimble paused, his expression concerned. Macavity had his arms wrapped around himself and was rocking back and forth in an almost worrying fashion.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!" Macavity gasped, his breath coming short. "Please keep going. I love this story."

"Okay…" Skimbleshanks looked skeptic but pressed on nonetheless.

_"Queens. Somehow he was able to seek out the ones that knew just how to act, just what to say, just what to do to please him. He took so many into his den -- willingly or by force -- that he found it impossible to keep track of them. Their multicolored furs blended together in his hazed mind, causing him distress as his own inferior memory._

_"But it was when a very special queen arrived that he finally found the solution to his problem._

_"Somehow his old mate had gotten captured by his cronies and was dragged helplessly to be thrown at Rhet's feet. At first Rhet did not recognize the scrawny tabby, but upon closer inspection he realized just who she was. Terrified that she might escape and return to the Jellicles to tell them of his true identity and alienate his kittens, Rhet used ventriloquism to force her eyes closed, to force himself inside her mind before her body._

_"He asked her many questions that night, questions about the tom she had once loved. He asked her about the kittens, who were now almost reaching adulthood. He asked her about the Jellicles, about herself, about himself. He wanted to know why his friends, his family, had deserted him, had left him to drown in the black tornado swirling around him._

_"When he was finished interrogating her, he felt he could not take her as his own. She belonged to another cat, Percival, whose return she admitted she still waited for. He had lain with her so many times in nights past, allowing her to break the emotional barrier he had guarded so strongly since his kitten hood. She had been his friend, his companion, the only cat he would ever love._

_"But no! Percival was no longer, and Rhet was who was here now. As the queen laid on the ground, her breathing labored and still wavering between consciousness, Rhet flexed his paws, inviting his claws to come out._

_"He began running his claws against her body gently, never anywhere to cause her discomfort and never hard enough to draw blood. He traveled over her altered figure, her neck, back, tail…_

_"His paw came to a rest at the top of her right flank. Yes, that seemed to be the spot. He spread his paw as wide as it would go, prepared his claws and himself for what he was about to do, and sank his claws into her body._

_"She let out a shriek that reverberated around the room, her blood flowing freely to stain her leg. The sticky liquid covered his claws in a thin red film and mingled with the fur on his paws. Her body went limp and she collapsed on her side, her injured flank facing upwards._

_"His old mate now had five deep claw wounds on her leg. Rhet knew they would close up eventually, but he knew that scars would always remain. He had marked his first victim._

_"Rhet continued in this fashion, permanently placing his mark on his many cronies and queens. This not only helped him keep track of his followers but also made it easy to sniff out imposters, which had become a problem after he had let his mate go, unharmed in any other way._

_"But this encounter showed Rhet who he truly was: he was an avenger, out on a mission to create a new race of cats. He was going to find the next generation's thaumaturgist and take him away, train him, teach him. He was going to finally quash the Jellicles, the tribe that had caused his father so much pain._

_"One day, Rhet swore, every cat would bear the mark of the Hidden Claw."_

* * *

"One day," Macavity's voice was a low growl, menace growing every second, "One day every cat will bear the mark of the Hidden Paw."

His eyes, still slit-like, turned away from the queen on his velvet cushion and towards the fire in the corner. Its crackle could be called merry, even friendly, but nothing enters Macavity's lair with those adjectives. The popping coming from the fire was menacing, matching the growl of its creator.

Macavity walked over to it, his paws fastening around the long metal rod poking out of the fire. At the end was the shape of a paw print, glowing red hot. This paw print looked as if a cat had gotten into a terrible accident and tracked blood all over.

He had discovered the art of branding by accident. He had been sitting peacefully by his fire when one of his henchcats so unwisely chose to disturb him. Outraged, Macavity seized the tool he had been using to stoke the fire and struck the cat with it. Though the burn healed, the fur never grew back.

Macavity had then discovered the perfect use for this discovery. Using his own paws as a guide, he created a brand like none other, that none could replicate.

It was a brand of a paw print with six claws.

For six claws was another mark of a thaumaturgist, one gone unnoticed to others. Macavity himself sported six claws on his right paw, just as the thaumaturgist before him had. How he laughed at those pathetic Jellicles, scampering around trying to locate the thaumaturgist when proof was right beneath their eyes. Nobody, not even the _wise_ and _all-knowing_ Old Deuteronomy knew of this unique quality.

Normally the mark went unnoticed to other cats, and if they did get close enough they did not look long enough to notice the peculiarity of the brand. Macavity had been able to keep himself safe from spies quite easily.

He approached the unsuspecting queen, the brand humming with impatience. How it longed to sear the flesh of a new victim, to mark another forever as having been used by Macavity. Her haunches were calling to it, asking for its warm touch, its burning caress.

For the brand only went on the haunches of those queens Macavity took for his own. His henchcats each had the mark on their sides, but only queens had this special mark.

Macavity paused, his eyes intent on the queen.

_How to do it?_ He wondered, as he often did before a branding. Some came to him begging for the mark, wishing nothing more to be of use. Others shrank against him, screaming in protest and then pain as the hot metal touched their flesh. Others still he kept spellbound, his voice convincing them that nothing was happening to them, that a nice warm paw was resting there.

But this queen was special, and Macavity couldn't just mark her and be done with it. This queen deserved something more, something special.

"Dance for me," he demanded suddenly, surprising himself when he crossed back to the fire with a business-like importance and replaced the brand.

"Yes," the queen's voice was deep and foggy. She rose from the cushion and began swaying her hips, swinging her tail along to silent music. Macavity recognized this dance; he had seen it countless times as a young tom, and it was only fitting that this was the one performed for him.

This dance was a Jellicle tradition, the only tradition Macavity respected and wished to keep one day. At the very middle of the Ball each year, mates would meet in the clearing and dance together as one being before lying down together. Macavity had always longed to dance with that one special queen while he was still a part of the tribe, but it had become clear as he grew that she would never come to him willingly, not while _he_ still lived.

But now Macavity had a queen all for himself, dancing that special, sacred dance for him. He restrained himself from joining her with difficulty, reminding himself that she was not the one he was to share this with, that that special queen was still out there somewhere, waiting for him.

But this one… This one was still different. Macavity had had his eyes on her for a long time, for she was a queen strong in both body and mind, a rare tuxedoed queen that had never graced the face of the Earth before.

No, Macavity was not going to bind himself to this queen in the everlasting Mating Dance. He had picked out _that_ queen before he consciously had known what he was doing. But that would not stop him from marking another queen as his own, a queen that would stand out from the others he had already branded.

This queen, the one preparing herself for him now -- whether she was willing or not -- was his queen, the one chosen to bear his litter.

Macavity knew, even now, while she still remained pure and untouched, that she would bear him a tom that would be the spitting image of her, one with six claws on one hand.

She would bear the little tuxedo kitten that would become the next thaumaturgist.

* * *

_Don't you just ADORE foreshadowing?_


	3. Mistoffelees

_I apologize in advance to any Misto fans out there. I'm one of you, I promise. You'll just have to wait for a future chapter to fully see that..._

_Disclaimer: I'm hosting a tea party for TSE and Goethe. Al Dubs is gonna crash; I can feel it._

* * *

_I am the Spirit that denies!  
And rightly too; for all that doth begin  
Should rightly to destruction run;  
'Twere better then that nothing were begun.  
Thus everything that you call Sin,  
Destruction - in a word, as Evil represent-  
That is my own, real element._

_--Mephistopheles, _Faust_ by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

* * *

His head was bowed, and he dared not raise it. He could feel the Hidden Paw breathing heavily; the beating had no doubt strained him. Although he knew that he was now more powerful than his master could ever hope to be, he left his head bowed, willing to accept this punishment. He was no stranger to beatings, even after a near perfect training lesson, just as today's had been.

_Pride is a sin_, he reminded himself with a sincerity that almost made him let out a harsh, Pollicle-like bark of laughter.

His own audacity surprised him to this day. To think of sins as a negative now, after all that had been done to him and done by him… That was foolishness. Recognizing your sins is the first step to seeking forgiveness, and a thaumaturgist never seeks forgiveness from anyone, not even the Everlasting Cat.

This had been taught to him by the cat that now wheezed above him.

The Hidden Paw had deteriorated significantly from his former days of glory, this he knew for certain. A beating had once been something feared, something that would cause him to curl into a small black ball, as if to escape. A beating had once sent him to his mother's waiting paws so she could lick his wounds clean. A beating had once made him cry.

But never again! Now his master was weak, unable to strike him with the strength of his past. Now a beating was nothing, little more than a couple stings to prove he was alive.

And how he enjoyed them! How he loved hearing his master's breath grow ragged and heavy until he was hunched over, panting, while he sat perfectly still, back straight, not wavering in the slightest. He loved standing up to his master, showing him just how powerful a thaumaturgist he would soon become.

But today had been different. He had not spoken out of turn, failed to show on time, or show the Hidden Paw the proper respect. He had been the perfect little angel today, doing as he was told by both his master and his mother, who still thought of him as a tiny kitten, not the most powerful thaumaturgist the world has ever known. He had performed his exercises perfectly, matching the Hidden Paw in efficiency.

Then came the beating.

A lecture would come next, he was certain, and though he could leave in the blink of an eye if he so wished, he remained with his head bowed. There was something about the atmosphere that was different today, something different about the Hidden Paw.

"I am pleased with your progress," the Hidden Paw began, just as suspected. "You have learned my skills flawlessly, taking them as your own and honing them to fit your needs. I have nothing more to teach you."

He chanced a glance upwards, shocked to see that the Hidden Paw had tears in his eyes.

"My son," he continued, his gaze more fond than threatening, "I have long awaited this day, the day when I will come to recognize you as my equal."

"Master?" There was a hint of confusion in his voice, and he was sure the Hidden Paw was enjoying holding some knowledge over him, now that magical techniques and skills were no longer available.

"Son, I cannot mark you as my own."

"Father?"

"You will not receive the mark of the Hidden Paw. _You_ will give the Hidden Paw _your _mark. The Hidden Paw will be the first cat to bear the mark of Mephistopheles, the greatest of the thaumaturgists."

Mephistopheles was certain he had heard wrong. This was not at all like the Hidden Paw; it had to be some sort of test. Just mere seconds ago the Hidden Paw had been trying to beat him to death, and now he was trying to convince him it was all right to mark his master?

His dropped his head again, bending his entire body into a bow.

"Master, Father, I cannot," Mephistopheles had no idea if he had made the right decision, but he knew that the Hidden Paw's self-preservation outranked any other feelings he may have. "I cannot harm the tom that has been my teacher and mentor as long as I can remember."

"Mephistopheles," the Hidden Paw's voice was stony and monotone, completely unreadable. "You have passed."

Mephistopheles looked up into the Hidden Paw's face, seeing the cat smile for the first time. Tentatively, he allowed his own mouth to turn up, his whiskers twitching.

"In the future, my son, you must not be afraid to mark others," the Hidden Paw's voice was now business-like and impatient, his typical teaching tone. "You must never hesitate because of an attachment. However, you must never, ever mark a teacher. Teachers give a part of themselves to their students, and have already given enough of themselves voluntarily."

"I understand."

"You must mark your followers, your queens, and your enemies, but you must be sure to have a different mark for each." The Hidden Paw suddenly stomped on the ground three times. Mephistopheles started, his eyes turning towards the entrance to the lair.

Six cats entered: three henchcats each dragging another behind them. The latter were thrown to the ground before Mephistopheles and his master.

"Mark these three as your own."

The Hidden Paw's voice was no more than a whisper, a growl playing around inside it. Mephistopheles could smell the anticipation in his speech, his hunger to watch his son adopt one of his most sacred traditions.

"Yes."

The cat closest to Mephistopheles was one he did not recognize. This tom was a dust-brown color, so thin his frame was little more than a skeleton. His yellow eyes were filled with fierce, unblinking determination, and he seemed determined to stare Mephistopheles down. He had been de-clawed, but none too kindly, as his paws were heavily scarred and deformed.

"Enemy," Mephistopheles murmured as he circled this cat, trying to locate the perfect place to mark this tom. His paws traveled through the air, searching for the right angle, the spot that would be most noticeable…

His right paw, the one with six claws, paused at the nape of the tom's neck. Smiling, his eyes glinting, Mephistopheles summoned his inside energy to his paws, the blue lightning emerging to dance between his claws, awaiting his command.

With one strong, downward thrust, the blue lightning shot straight onto Mephistopheles' intended target. He could feel the cat protesting under his paws, but he held the tom still with his mind. He moved his paws slowly downward in crisp, jagged motions, creating a unique mark for this enemy cat.

By the time he had finished, the cat had fainted, held upright by Mephistopheles' will. He had a long, lightning bolt scar running down his backbone, the fur burned clean away. The flesh underneath was burning red. It would heal in time, Mephistopheles knew, but not before producing some rather impressive blisters.

"Excellent," the Hidden Paw's voice came from behind him. Mephistopheles turned to the next victim, a queen. He was still a very young tom, so he did not fully understand the way the Hidden Paw intended him to use queens. Nonetheless, he began running his paws through the air, searching for the correct spot.

This queen was pure white, her fur neatly groomed and smelling of flowers. She wore a thin collar around her neck, metal tags clinking together as she flinched against his movements. She looked to be even younger than him. Her tail twitched nonstop, curling this way and that, unable to cease its movement.

Her tail had answered his search. Holding her still, Mephistopheles gave her a similar lightning mark, arching like a rainbow right above her tail. The mark was considerably smaller than the one given to the enemy tom, a mark that would go unnoticed if not searched for. Having finished, he allowed her unconscious form to slump to the ground.

Mephistopheles turned his head discreetly to look at the Hidden Paw, hoping for another word of praise. The older tom was not watching Mephistopheles, however, but the young white queen. His claws were flexing and some sort of energy was pulsing around him. This energy made Mephistopheles very nervous, for he felt it was something his master could not control. Would he one day succumb to this same energy and lose control?

Choosing to ignore the problem and hope it went away, Mephistopheles turned to the last victim, the ally.

His eyes fell on a tom with an asymmetrical black and white pattern. This tom was very well built and considerably larger than he was. His eyes were a penetrating blue, staring unblinkingly at Mephistopheles.

But this was not one of the Hidden Paw's followers here for a demonstration. This was a very special tom, one that Mephistopheles held very close.

"Sammael," Mephistopheles breathed, severely disappointed to see this tom in front of him.

"Mephisto," Sammael answered with the nickname he and he alone used for the young thaumaturgist. "Surprised?"

"Are you here willingly?"

"No."

"I won't mark you," he whispered, barely moving his lips. "I can't if you aren't here by choice. Now hold still, this could sting if you don't."

Mephistopheles moved his paws through the air around Sammael's body, willing the Hidden Paw to still be entranced by whatever power held him. Mephistopheles couldn't hope to succeed if his master was watching with full attention.

Concentrating all his energy to his paws again, Mephistopheles began moving his blue lightning in the familiar lightning shape, burning away the fur on Sammael's left arm. It took all the will power and self control he had to not touch the skin underneath the fur, and he prayed that the Hidden Paw would not notice that Sammael's skin remained light pink rather than flaming red. He could feel Sammael holding his breath as the lightning passed within a bad judgment's distance of his body.

He bent closer upon completion to inspect his work. He had burned away the fur on Sammael's arm, leaving a jagged lightning mark, but the skin underneath was a healthy pink rather than blistering red. There were small spots of red where he had misjudged the distance, but by the time his fur grew back these would be unnoticeable.

He turned to look at the Hidden Paw again, every fiber of his being hoping the dangerous tom would not notice the glaring differences between the last mark and the previous two. He needn't have worried, for his master's eyes were still fixed on the unmoving white queen.

"Perhaps, out of gratitude for my years of training… A gift from son to father…" the Hidden Paw's voice was little more than a low growl. His tail was completely straight and his long fur was on end.

He desired the little queen that laid so peacefully, as if in sleep, before them. Although he admired the Hidden Paw more than any other cat, Mephistopheles felt a twinge of disappointment at the tom's words. This queen hadn't even grown out of kittenhood yet. She wouldn't heal like the others; this would stay with her and follow her forever.

Mephistopheles could almost hear the Hidden Paw's thoughts, how he regretted giving this queen away, how he thought it was such a waste of a perfectly good, pure queen.

_He won't let her leave if I don't take her,_ Mephistopheles realized, his heart skipping a beat in horror. _He means to have her for himself… or watch another take her._

Mephistopheles was still a young tom and did not desire queens the same way his master did. He felt it poor sport to take advantage of the helpless creatures and steal away something that could never be returned. A thaumaturgist should seek out true enemies and give them a fair, fighting chance, and queens would never be strong enough to suffice. Mephistopheles would choose a clawing, biting fight with a tom over a helpless queen any day.

"I'm sorry, but this one is mine," Mephistopheles kept his voice unreadable, his expression passive. As the Hidden Paw looked on disapprovingly, he slung the queen's unmoving form over his back and began moving towards the exit. He could feel the Hidden Paw's disappointment following him through the air, like a poison trying to pervade his mind.

"Come, Sammael," Mephistopheles ordered, not looking back to see if he was obeyed.

Two henchcats had been stationed right outside the entrance of Macavity's lair. Mephistopheles fixed each with a glare, his eyes sufficient enough to turn their heads upwards and allow the young tom to proceed unwatched.

"An unnecessary precaution," Sammael's voice was barely audible. Mephistopheles knew that no cat could track him through the junkyard, but he enjoyed watching the henchcats flinch, to know he held power over them even if they were larger in stature.

Mephistopheles was a very small tom, as it were. He had been the runt of the litter at birth, and the Hidden Paw told him many times that if it hadn't been for his powers he would not have made it. His older brother, Sammael, was much larger than he.

Mephistopheles breathed deeply, his lungs worshipping the less-than-fresh air. The Hidden Paw's underground hovel smelled of decay and rotten fish, two smells that took up permanent residence inside his nostrils. The nighttime air in the junkyard was cooler and helped remove the stench.

He led Sammael to his own special place in the junkyard: the inside of an upturned bookshelf. This rather unconventional shelter provided warmth and protection from rain and snow as well as a hidden place to be alone. Most of the henchcats believed that Mephistopheles would choose to reside someplace lavish and clean, somewhere his every need could be catered to. On the contrary, Mephistopheles opted for a discreet place where he could hone his abilities without interruption.

"Inside," he ordered, stepping to the side so Sammael could slide through the barely noticeable hole in the wood. Mephistopheles followed, careful to squeeze the queen through unharmed.

"She's a beauty," Sammael remarked as Mephistopheles laid the queen's still unmoving body on the ground between the two of them.

"She's a kitten," Mephistopheles' tone was scathing, a tone that would have made any other cat flinch as if cut with a knife. "She's not old enough for him."

"She's for _you_, Mephisto," Sammael used the nickname again, nudging the queen's body closer to the little thaumaturgist. "She's yours."

"I don't want her," Mephistopheles dramatically turned up his nose to make this clear enough for Sammael, who always assumed he was playing the part of noble hero.

"I do," Sammael moved closer to the queen, his eyes wild, only to be pushed back by Mephistopheles' powerful magic thrust. Sammael slammed into the shelf behind him, sliding slowly to the ground. The larger tom let out a low groan of pain, loud enough to make Mephistopheles smile.

"What was that for?" Sammael remained where he was, his blue eyes boring into Mephistopheles' own. "You didn't want her. It's a waste of a queen."

"She's too young," Mephistopheles was tired of explaining himself. "I'll wait until she's older. I've already marked her; that's enough to ensure no other tom will take her." His eyes narrowed. "Now, explain yourself."

After a tense silence, Sammael obliged.

"I'm a disappointment to the thaumaturgist," Sammael's tone was casual, but Mephistopheles could see straight through it. "It was only a matter of time before he put me to the test, to make sure my loyalty outweighed my pride."

"By making me mark you as an ally?"

"By giving me the choice of being marked as an ally or enemy. I knew you couldn't mark me as your enemy, and I knew you wouldn't mark me if you knew it wasn't my decision."

"You took advantage of me," Mephistopheles' voice was icy, his eyes slits. "You took advantage of me for your own selfish purposes. It is an _honor_ to be marked by a thaumaturgist. It ensures that you will always be recognized and given a status others only dare to hope for. It sets you apart from those… Jellicles." Mephistopheles spat the last word as if it was a curse word.

Before Sammael could protest, Mephistopheles held him still with his mind, bringing lightning to his claws again. He could hear Sammael protesting inside his mind, but his mouth remained unmoving, just as Mephistopheles desired. He shot his lightning square onto Sammael's back.

* * *

"Mephistopheles, you have proven yourself to have the makings of a great thaumaturgist," the Hidden Paw nodded approvingly at the mark on Sammael's back. "I have long known that he was not going to stay true to our family, was not willing to serve under a younger brother." The Hidden Paw's voice was tense and Mephistopheles could sense that this had struck a chord deep inside of him. Before he could ask if there was something the Hidden Paw wished to share, his father began speaking.

"Have I ever told you about your two uncles and your grandfather?"

"No," Mephistopheles was slightly dazed by this news. He had been raised thinking that he had no family outside of Macavity and his followers. To find out that somewhere out there he had another family…

"My father, your grandfather, is the leader of the Jellicles."

Mephistopheles remained silent, though his tongue was tingling with the insults he longed to throw at this cat he had never met.

"His name is Old Deuteronomy. My brothers are named Munkustrap and Rum Tum Tugger. They are all part of the tribe, along with a group of cats I used to consider friends. Their names are Alonzo, Cassandra, Bombalurina, and Demeter."

"Forgive me, but why are you sharing this with me?" Mephistopheles knew that the Hidden Paw felt he needed this information, and he longed to know the reason.

"It has been a very long time since one of us have penetrated the Jellicle tribe, and it is high time we try again. I want them to be taken apart from the inside. I want to watch them suffer, to watch them fight someone they thought was a friend.

"They are too trusting, too willing to help those they think are in need. They take in stray cats, cats abandoned by their owners, kittens abandoned by their mothers. Their sympathy will become their downfall."

"What must I do?" Mephistopheles could see exactly where this was going.

"I want you to infiltrate the Jellicle tribe. I want you to befriend all the elders, listen to their stories -- especially their take on the legend of Vainamoinen I have told you countless times -- take part in their dances. I want you to be the cat responsible for the downfall of their tribe, the cat that will be regarded as a hero by all who come after."

"Yes," Mephistopheles could see it now. He could see the Jellicles running from the lightning in his paws, see their looks of terror when he revealed himself as one of the feared thaumaturgists. He could smell their terror, taste their fear, feel their blood.

"You, my son, will bring about the new era: the era where thaumaturgists take control of all cats and wipe out the Jellicles and their _Jellicle Ball_ forever."

* * *

_Because none of you saw that coming, right?_


	4. Rum Tum Tugger

_I am so terribly sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up. I had no idea what I wanted to happen, so I must have reworked this chapter at least five times. I'm still not overjoyed with it, but... I'm pleased. Remind me never to write as Mistoffelees ever again, because I think my writer's block was all his fault. Seriously, as soon as I finished that last chapter, I started a completely new story about Misto and neglected this one for at least three days._

_Disclaimer: Props to TSE! (And Al Dubs, I guess...)_

* * *

He could feel the air pulsing as he approached. The sheer force of this unseen energy made him halt, his resolve becoming prey to his id.

It frightened him, this invisible force pushing against him, entering his body and rendering his limbs paralyzed. He could feel his heart beating wildly against his ribs, as if battering against the bars of its cage. His skin prickled, fur standing on end. He felt he had aged a hundred years while this force had control over him.

_Just turn around_, a soothing voice said inside his head, stroking his fear as if to calm it. _Leave. You don't have to be here._

His mind was fogging, becoming intoxicated with the voice. He felt sleepy, and his vision blurred before him.

_Just turn back. Turn back. Turn back._

These words continued as a mantra inside him, wrapping tendrils around his unresponsive limbs and forcing him to start backing away from the still pulsing air. He felt as if he was floating, being carried away to a paradise he had only dreamt of.

His eyelids were so heavy. Perhaps if he just closed them, only for a second, he would awake refreshed in a place far from here. His eyelids began to droop as the soothing voice urged him to succumb to sleep.

_Close your eyes_, it said, wrapping him in a warm, cloudy cocoon. _Sleep. Drift away into your dreams._

He allowed his eyelids to fall closed, his eyes feeling swollen beneath their loving touch. He felt his body go limp and fall to the ground softly, as if he was being laid in bed by a kind owner. He curled himself into a little black and brown ball, breathing slowly and deeply. The voice was still speaking to him, relaxing him, slowly helping him drift off.

Only semi-conscious, he could feel someone – or something – grab onto his limbs one by one, so tight he felt his paws throb. He tried to stir, to awaken himself from this induced slumber, but to no avail.

He was being dragged none too kindly along the ground, feeling the rough dirt scrape against his back. Parts of his mane snagged on rocks and bits of garbage, an event that would have caused him to jump up in alarm had the situation differed.

The calming voice was still speaking to him, coaxing him deeper into sleep, reassuring him of his safety. The voice was swirling around inside his head, his head that had once been filled of determined, conscious thoughts. He felt as if someone had come and sapped away all his will power, draining him of both thought and movement in one fell swoop.

He could feel particles of garbage and dirt in his mane, adding to its barely noticeable weight. He could feel his paws growing numb from a lack of blood, and he willed his captors to release his paws to let them heal.

And yet, he felt nothing at all. His mane did not matter. His paws could drop off for all he cared. The soothing voice was telling him everything was all right, that he would be just fine, and the voice had to be right.

A second voice broke in on his thoughts, this one seeming more real and outside the realms of his mind.

"Release him."

The voice inside his head suddenly went silent at the same moment his paws were released. All thoughts came flooding back, all pain became more noticeable. His entire body convulsed, pulling itself together into a defensive ball. He kept his eyes closed, not willing to look up at the cat he knew was staring down at him.

He was slowly regaining feeling in his paws, his whole face screwing up against this unpleasant sensation. He could feel dirt in his coat, and knew he would be spending the next few days cleaning himself.

"Leave us."

That voice was so threatening it sent tingles down his spine. He could feel it grating against the air, as if it was not meant to be heard. That voice was so familiar, and yet it was so different he would not have recognized it in another situation.

He allowed his eyes to slowly blink open. It was very dark here, wherever he was. Had it been nighttime when he had first set out? He could not remember. His body was pressed into his face, his nose forced to inhale the smells his coat had picked up.

Slowly, oh so slowly, he began to uncurl his body. He shifted his weight so he was propped up on his side, then continued moving until he was in a tolerably upright position. His tail was in close to his body and his legs were wobbling under his weight, but he was upright.

He kept his head bowed, not able to bring himself to look at the cat standing above him. He could hear the cat breathing, feel the anticipation in the air.

"Tell me why you are here."

It wasn't a request. It was an order, the type of order he had become so accustomed to receiving from this cat. Blinking rapidly to hold off tears, he raised his head.

He caught a single glimpse of the ginger cat before his head was smacked with such force he was forced to bow it again. He winced, his head feeling as if a mad Pollicle was inside it.

"I had to find you," his voice was soft and hoarse. He could feel a lump in his throat protesting, but pressed on nonetheless. "I had to see you."

"Is this the part where we start crying and I return with you while you play the part of the hero?" The ginger cat's voice was scathing. A cut with a knife could never penetrate as deep as this voice.

"I hoped it would be," he admitted, closing his eyes on the tears that were threatening to betray him.

"Rum Tum Tugger," the cat's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Known by his friends as the joker, the clown, the tom that never has a serious moment. This is quite an accomplishment for you, little brother. So tell me, why were you sent after me? Was it because everyone thought I couldn't possibly hurt my little defenseless brother?"

He could see the blow coming before he felt it. He did not move; he did not flinch. He remained motionless, limp as a discarded piece of newspaper, as the cat above him began to beat him mercilessly.

"The Hidden Paw is not a cat to be underestimated," the ginger cat's voice was rubbing against his mind like sandpaper, making every sense he had want to flinch, to curl up into a defensive ball again, but he let his body collapse to the ground, feeling his bruises form as the paws kept hitting him. He could feel the careless claws raking against his soft skin, could feel blood running down his stomach, but he did not move.

"Too scared to defend yourself?" the other taunted, never ceasing in his abuse. "Afraid of scary big brother Macavity?"

Rum Tum Tugger closed his eyes, unwilling to look at the ginger tom. He rolled over so his back was to the cat called the Hidden Paw, so the cat would not see the tear escape from his eye.

"Don't turn your back on me!" The older tom pounced on the younger, his teeth sinking through the once fluffy mane to bite the flesh underneath. Rum Tum Tugger felt his shoulder burning, felt his mouth open, heard his own voice reverberate around this strange underground place, but he could not comprehend his situation. He was screaming, wasn't he? He was being hurt, being abused, wasn't he? He couldn't understand.

The teeth released him, only to give way to a number of vicious attacks to his arms and chest. He could feel the claws tearing his skin, and yet it did not hurt.

"Jellicle Cats come out tonight," he began mumbling, not comprehending what the words were or what they meant. "Jellicle Cats come one, come all. The Jellicle Moon is shining bright. Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball."

"Stop it!" Macavity shouted, pushing his brother away. Rum Tum Tugger felt a strange sensation come over him, and suddenly the ground fell away from beneath him. For the first time that night, he was seized with terror, and he opened his eyes.

He was suspended in the air above Macavity, who was snarling up at him. There was nothing holding him in the air, however, so Rum Tum Tugger assumed this was one of Macavity's special powers, as his father had called them.

"Jellicle Cats come out tonight," he continued, his voice still nothing more than a mumble. "Jellicle Cats come one, come all. The Jellicle Moon is –"

"Stop it!" Macavity ordered again, and a white hot pain seized Rum Tum Tugger's body from head to tail. He gritted his teeth, wincing against this new torture.

"I will not hear such blasphemy, not here," Macavity's voice was calm, but Rum Tum Tugger could feel his discomfort. "I will not tolerate such disobedience."

The pain died away, leaving his body numb. How he wanted to return to the ground, to curl up and sleep!

"I'm surprised at you, Rum Tum Tugger," Macavity began pacing now, his eyes fixed on the ground. "You were always nothing but talk. You would brag to Munkustrap and Alonzo and anyone else who would listen about how someday you were going to be the greatest Jellicle of them all, how you were going to hunt down the thaumaturgist of our generation and bring him back to the ways of the Jellicles.

"Well, here is your chance, little brother. Why so down? Why are you not converting me from my – how did you put it? – 'badness from the Heaviside to the junkyard' to become a perfect little Jellicle?"

"You were going to sing it," Rum Tum Tugger's voice was soft, his tone gentle but urgent.

"What was that?" Macavity asked, looking back up at the suspended cat.

"You were the one chosen," Rum Tum Tugger knew Macavity understood every word he was saying, but he felt as if he had to explain everything to him, as an elder explains to a kitten. "You were chosen by the elders to sing the invitation."

The silence rang around him, mocking him. Rum Tum Tugger's ears were buzzing and he was slowly losing feeling in his extremities. He was wavering between consciousness and dreams, unable to decipher the two.

Then Macavity began to laugh.

This laugh was filled with such inhumane pleasure it struck Rum Tum Tugger to his very center, leaving every bone in his body tingling. It caused his mind to jerk awake so fast his head began to throb, pounding in time with the laugh.

"Jellicle Cats come out tonight. Jellicle Cats come one, come all. The Jellicle Moon is shining bright. Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball."

His voice was powerful, much too powerful for his body to contain. It rang through the air, battling with the laugh in a clash of sound. It pushed against the laugh, forcing it back… back… back until it was nothing but an echo, a memory of sound that once was.

"They chose you to sing it!" He was shouting, not knowing where this surge of energy had come from. "Out of all of us, they chose you! You were going to show the kittens what it means to be a Jellicle, show them what they have to look forward to. You were going to be their first teacher! You were supposed to represent the tribe, not leave it for… for… this!"

"And I suppose our dear Munkus will have to fill in for me now, won't he?"

"No! I do!"

For the first time, he had caught the Hidden Paw off guard. He had shocked the cat into silence, had surprised him into thought. When he spoke next, the Hidden Paw remained silent.

"I don't want to be your replacement. I want you to do it. I want to look up at my older brother and be able to whisper to the kittens, 'That's my brother, Macavity.' I want to hear you sing it, nobody else."

He fell to the ground abruptly, his claw and teeth wounds stinging on impact. He could feel the other cat coming closer, could feel the hot breath on his neck. He tensed his body, squeezing his eyes shut against the threat coming nearer.

His entire body convulsed when he felt something warm and wet brush against the teeth marks in his shoulder. He pushed his unresponsive body away from his brother, his paws tingling and his heart racing.

"Hold still, dammit," the rough voice followed him, its master's paw fastening on his arm. Rum Tum Tugger's eyes widened as Macavity bent down over the wound he had inflicted and began licking it.

"What are you doing?"

"Shut it," Macavity's words were a blur between licks, coming so fast that Rum Tum Tugger barely caught and comprehended them. His entire body was telling him to back away, to escape from whatever it was that Macavity was doing, but his mind held him still out of nothing but curiosity.

Having finished with his little brother's shoulder, Macavity moved on to the other wounds on his body, going steadily and slowly. Rum Tum Tugger's body was tense, unable to relax under his brother's care.

He barely noticed when Macavity had finished, when he turned his back on his little brother and began to leave as if nothing had happened. Thoroughly confused, Rum Tum Tugger began to move his numb body, his wounds not stinging nearly as much as they had.

_Jellicle Cats come out tonight. Jellicle Cats come one, come all. The Jellicle Moon is shining bright. Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball._

* * *

"What's going on?"

A tiny, wide-eyed Rum Tum Tugger was clutching Macavity's ginger arm in his paws, pulling it close to his body.

"Let go, Tug," The older kitten ordered, succeeding in pulling himself free of his brother's needy grasp. He shook his arm dramatically, as if to show Rum Tum Tugger just how tight he had been holding on.

"But really, what's going on?" Tugger asked again, leaning closer towards his brother.

"Bother someone else," Macavity's voice was impatient, and he focused his gaze on the cat in front of them, shutting Tugger out completely.

Rum Tum Tugger pouted, tossing his head obnoxiously. He turned away from Macavity and instead looked at his other brother, Munkustrap.

Munkustrap was watching the cat in front of them intently, his eyes unblinking and his back straight. His tail was twitching behind him, but he seemed not to notice.

"Munkus, what's going on?" Rum Tum Tugger fastened his paws on Munkustrap's arm now, squeezing as tight as he knew he was allowed and pulling. Munkustrap did not acknowledge this, and continued staring ahead. Groaning impatiently, Rum Tum Tugger tackled Munkustrap to the ground, forcing his older brother to pay attention to him.

"What?" Munkustrap was obviously annoyed.

"What's going on?" Rum Tum Tugger asked, his voice rather whiney, as the two cats straightened up. Munkustrap sighed exasperatingly before giving Tugger a short but accurate explanation.

"It's the greeting song and dance Dad told us about," he fixed his eyes on the cat again. "Remember, Dad told us that they choose one cat from each of the three youngest generations to do it."

Rum Tum Tugger did not, admittedly, remember this at all, but he did not ask for further clarification. As he turned to look at the cat dancing, he noticed with a shock that it was Demeter. She was contorting her body this way and that, showing off her grace and flexibility.

As he looked on, Skimbleshanks came into sight and began singing. He and Demeter began dancing in unison, smiling around at the cats clustered in a circle, watching them.

"Jellicle Cats come out tonight," Skimbleshanks sang, his voice powerful and inviting. "Jellicle Cats come on, come all. The Jellicle Moon is shining bright. Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball."

As he ended his song, another cat Rum Tum Tugger did not recognize stood up at the front of the group and began singing. Skimbleshanks and Demeter, who looked rather sick, fell back, giving this new cat the limelight.

Demeter looked around wildly, and, as her gaze fell over to where Tugger and his brothers were sitting, she made her way over to them. She headed at first to sit next to Macavity, but, noticing an empty space next to Munkustrap, she turned abruptly to sit there instead.

* * *

Rum Tum Tugger was watching the little queen intently. Her movements were graceful, her arms sweeping around her elegantly. She had followed Demeter's instructions exactly, learning the dance as the generations before her had.

The queen's orange fur was shining in the moonlight, little lights glinting peacefully. Tugger could see Skimbleshanks and Jennyanydots smiling as they watched this little queen dance the first part of the invitation to the Jellicle Ball flawlessly.

Rum Tum Tugger felt his stomach flip over. He had always been so confident in front of groups, always been the first to break into song, but here he was, singing a legendary and traditional song that hadn't even been given to him. This role did not belong to him. He did not deserve to invite the kittens to join the tribe.

He had been told to make the song sound original, to make it unique to him, add his own flair to it. Well, his type of flair was not the type a tom would use when singing the invitation; Macavity's, on the other hand, was. Even now, as he stood concealed, waiting for his moment, he could hear the tom singing the invitation in his head, his powerful voice pulling at the willpower of everyone present, until they each succumbed to his command and entered the tribe.

Recognizing the queen's dance move as his cue, Rum Tum Tugger sauntered into the open, smiling sheepishly at the cats surrounding him. He kept walking until he was close enough to reach out and touch the little orange queen.

"Jellicle Cats come out tonight," he began, his voice missing its defining rock edge, as he had opted for a softer, more traditional tone. "Jellicle Cats c–"

"Come one, come all."

A powerful, irresistible voice broke in on the tranquility of the clearing, smothering Tugger's neatly. In a flash of ginger fur, the little orange queen crumpled to the ground in front of him, her head hitting the ground with a horrible crunch.

"The Jellicle Moon is shining bright."

The ginger fur appeared for mere moments, barely noticeable. It traveled around the group of Jellicles clustered around the clearing, leaving an unmoving kitten in its wake each time.

"Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball."

Screaming, Jennyanydots bounded forward, pulling the orange kitten into her arms. Skimbleshanks had remained where he was, cradling two other little orange kittens, a tom and a queen. All around the clearing, frantic parents rocked their unresponsive kittens in their arms, screaming and crying.

_You were going to show the kittens what it means to be a Jellicle, show them what they have to look forward to. You were going to be their first teacher!_

Not a single kitten survived Macavity's first lesson.


	5. Hidden Paw

_This story was spawned from too many pieces of cake and carbonated beverages. So... blame the sugar, not me._

_Disclaimer: Props to TSE!! (And Al Dubs, I guess...)_

* * *

His eyes were slits and his nose was closed to the foul odor in front of him. He circled around the two, once… twice… his growl growing in his throat with each turn. He could feel it clawing at his vocal chords, biting at the ropes that confined it. He could feel it longing to break free to develop into a proper roar.

He restrained that tempting joy with difficulty, breathing slowly and steadily. He let his body expand on the inhale, his stature overcompensating for the roar that still fought inside his throat.

The larger of the two cats was breathing irregularly, her fear pasted clearly on her face. The smaller was a mere kitten, only days old. This tiny little queen, eyes still gummed shut, hadn't a clue as to the danger she was in.

"Mephistopheles," Macavity barked suddenly, his voice gruff and hoarse. He turned an attentive head towards the entrance to his lair, waiting expectantly.

Another kitten, just entering his thirteenth moon, entered mere seconds after Macavity's command. His eyes were confused, his mouth twitching as if he was unsure if he was permitted to smile in Macavity's presence. This little kitten, who had always been disappointingly small for his age (he had been the runt of the litter, his brothers passing him easily in size), shuffled to Macavity's side, the queen on the ground hidden by the older tom's ginger body.

"Yes, Hidden Paw?" The tom bowed his head respectfully, his little nose touching the ground as he did so.

"It is time for a lesson," Macavity turned his attention back onto the queen, the growl back in his throat. Mephistopheles, his son, peered around his leg at the queen and her kitten.

"Mother!" he cried, bounding forward with all formalities forgotten. He did not notice the small white kitten nestled by her stomach and buried his head into her neck. The queen remained stiff and unmoving, held still by Macavity's mind.

"Mother?" Mephistopheles stopped his affectionate nuzzle and backed up a few paces to look at the queen properly. He turned his head to meet the Hidden Paw's eyes, puzzled. "What's wrong with her?"

"She has been disobedient," Macavity reached out with one stick-thin arm and drew Mephistopheles back so the little tom was sitting neatly between his paws. The tuxedo kitten began trembling, for, young as he was, he knew what happened to those that did not heed Macavity's orders.

"But Mother could never do anything wrong," Mephistopheles protested, turning a pleading face up to look Macavity in the eyes.

"Your mother," Macavity's voice rose in volume and he began pacing between the tuxedo kitten and the tuxedo queen, "my mate, a queen all have been taught to look to as leader in my place, has betrayed us. Mephistopheles, my son, do you understand what this means?" He turned slit-like eyes back onto the still trembling kitten.

"Jellicles," was all Mephistopheles said, but it was enough. He understood.

"Correct," Macavity's voice was losing its control, his tongue unable to wrap itself around the syllables properly. A low growl escaped from his lips. He walked around behind the still unmoving queen and bent his head low next to hers.

"Tell us your story, my dear," he ordered, swiftly removing the white kitten from the mother's side. "And do not leave out a single detail, for if you do, this cute little queen must suffer like the rest of them."

Carrying the kitten in his teeth, Macavity walked around the queen again, depositing the kitten by Mephistopheles's feet. His son did not seem to understand what he was meant to do, and remained still, staring at his mother with unblinking eyes. Macavity chose a spot beside Mephistopheles and came to a halt, his eyes boring into the queen as she began speaking.

* * *

_"You can't go back there, not again," Coristo had a paw resting on her upper thigh, gently tracing circles with his claw. His milky white fur was shining softly in the sun, contrasting with the dominant black of her coat._

_"I have to," she murmured, turning her head slowly so as to not look at him. Her body shifted, conveniently making his paw drop from her leg to the ground. He answered by moving closer to her, pressing his body against hers._

_"Celesta, please," his tone was soft and gentle, but had an unmistakable note of urgency laced within it. "How long do you think you can keep this going? You're already expecting another litter. If they're not his…"_

_"Then it will be the greatest gift we have been given," Celesta finished for him, still looking determinedly away from him. Then, frowning, she turned back to look at him, backing away so he could not reach her. "Are you saying that you would rather have me give that… that monster another litter? You would rather have me give him more young minds to brainwash? Coristo, you can't possibly want him to be the father." She laid a paw over her swollen stomach, searching his face for reassurance._

_"I would rather have you give birth to his litter if it keeps you safe," the white tom's eyes were unblinking, looking directy into hers._

_"You would have me go through all that again," her voice was hushed. "You would have me put my body, my mind, through all that once more." She sat up, closing her eyes. "You don't understand, Coristo, what that was like. Knowing that my kittens, the little kittens that I carried, were going to be taken away from me by a tom that I hate." Her watery eyes opened, boring into Coristo's face._

_"I gave him his successor," she said as the tom beckoned her closer. "I gave him all he wanted from me. You can't possibly understand how much I hated myself for that, how much I hated a little kitten – my little kitten – before I had even laid eyes on the poor thing." She allowed herself to disappear into his warm arms, his soft fur tickling her chin._

_"I'm not going to tell you that I know or understand, Celesta," he began speaking in a soft voice, his words comforting her. "I can't possibly begin to understand. I can only tell you that I want nothing more than for you to be safe. I want to live to see the day when you no longer have to return to him out of fear. I want to see him taken down."_

_"There will never be a Jellicle powerful enough," Celesta told his fur, nuzzling her face deeper into his chest, smelling grass and rain water._

_Coristo did not answer, and instead lowered himself slowly to the ground, stretched out on his back. Celesta's body fell with his, her heavy breathing pushing against his side. He stroked her back with careful paws, trying to calm her._

_"There is more than one kind of magic, Celesta," he told her. "Never forget that."_

* * *

Macavity's henchcats were in a panic. They skittered around the lair, fumbling with their paws when his frowning gaze fell on them.

The queen on the ground beneath him was wavering in and out of consciousness, the pain of labor having taken its toll on her before its completion. Her fur was sticky with sweat and Macavity could feel her anxiety was much higher than it had been all those moons ago when she had given him a thaumaturgist.

A mate would, by tradition, stay seated next to his mate as she delivered his kittens, speaking encouraging words softly in her ear. Macavity, however, remained silent, observing the queen with fierce, inspecting eyes.

This time, he had reason to doubt that the queen would be giving him another litter.

Soft moans were escaping from her lips, her eyelids fluttering. Her limbs writhed in pain, coming to rest at odd angles. Her tail was twitching beneath her, wrapping around her legs as if to comfort her.

"I expect everything will go smoothly in my absence," Macavity instructed the henchcat nearest, turning tail and exiting his own lair.

The night was clear, no dark clouds covering the numerous stars. The moon was full, meaning that another Jellicle meeting was underway. Macavity's stomach clenched unpleasantly as he came to this realization.

This night may well be a new Jellicle Ball, his pupils dilated as he allowed himself to become entraced with the moon's light. He breathed in the night air deeply, the cool scents drifting lazily into his nose. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly and silently.

Was Celesta inside his lair, breathing in unison with him? He did not care. She no longer mattered to him, now that she had given the one thing she was useful for: a thaumaturgist. The litter she bore tonight was of no importance to him, unless, by some chance, he was not the father.

The Hidden Paw does not tolerate disobedience.

"Sir?"

He turned, to see a shivering henchcat hovering by the entrance to his lair. He blinked, coming back from his thoughts, only slightly surprised to feel his fur pressed against his body by a thick layer of rain. His eyes lifted to the sky, but there were no clouds to be seen.

"What is it?" his voice was hoarse and gruff, and his shook himself impatiently, showering the unfortunate henchcat with cold water.

"It is finished," the cat said, water dripping from his chin onto the ground as he spoke. His shivering had doubled now that he was covered in water, but he dared not shake himself dry, not while the Hidden Paw was within range.

"And?" Macavity was growing impatient. "The result?"

The cat was mouthing wordlessly, giving Macavity all the answer he needed. He pushed the cat to the ground roughly before re-entering his lair to assess the newborn kittens.

Celesta's eyes were dull and unfocused. She laid peacefully on her side, her breathing returned to normal, as five kittens tumbled over each other in their haste to feed.

Macavity's eyes were slits as he began to look over the newborns. From this distance, he could not decipher the genders, but one glance was enough to tell him that these kittens were not his. Not a single one had a hint of ginger to their fur.

Four of the little cats were pure white, their fur still wet and sticky. As one of these was pushed by its siblings, Macavity noted that it was a tom. He reached out with a paw and swiftly scooped this kitten up off the ground.

This was enough to bring the life back into Celesta's eyes. She blinked stupidly for a few seconds before realizing just what Macavity had in his paw.

"Please," she whispered, her voice strained. "I gave him to you. Don't take another one away from me."

Macavity's paws fastened around the little tom's throat. It was over in a single, strangled cry from his mother. Carelessly, Macavity flung the broken body back into the pile of scrambling kittens.

Celesta closed her eyes as the little white tom's body came in contact with her own. Macavity took advantage of this and, with a vicious swipe, separated the four remaining kittens from their mother.

Her eyes flew open, her sore body struggling to its feet. He knew she was in no condition to fight, and so kept her still with his mind. He laid each of the four kittens down on the ground between himself and Celesta, each on their backs.

Two of the remaining white kittens were toms, the other a queen. However, Macavity was not interested in these three at present. He had eyes only for the last kitten, a black and white tom who looked all too familiar.

He picked up this kitten roughly, letting the small body swing dangerously in the air. He thrust the kitten into Celesta's face and growled, "Tell me what he is."

"No," Celesta's voice was firm, her eyes focusing on the kitten.

"Who have you given one to this time?" Macavity flung the kitten down. The tiny thing began yowling on impact, writhing on its back.

"He isn't the same," Celesta's eyes were still on the kitten. "He isn't one, I just know it."

Growling, Macavity turned his back on the tom and his mother and instead turned his attention to the three remaining kittens. He picked up one of the white toms.

"Am I safe in assuming that this is what the father looks like?" Macavity shook the kitten viciously. "It makes my job all the easier, my dear, for white cats aren't very hard to find."

Celesta flinched against Macavity's hold as this kitten joined his brother, and again as the last white tom joined the still pile.

"Zleb!" Macavity's voice echoed menacingly around his lair. The still wet henchcat entered, trembling.

"Take this kitten out of my sight," he gestured to the little tuxedo kitten. "Ensure that he is placed with cats that will care for him. I never want to see him again, is that clear?"

"Yes," Zleb bent down in a bow before shuffling over to the still yowling kitten and lifting him up between his teeth. As Celesta watched, powerless to stop him, Zleb bounded out of Macavity's lair, his footfalls dying away.

"Why do you care?" Celesta's voice was forced. "Why must he be raised at all, when you slaughtered his brothers without a second thought?"

"I will not be responsible for the death of a thaumaturgist," Macavity closed his eyes. "I will not destroy a brother."

"He is not one of you," Celesta argued, but Macavity could hear a note of uncertainty in her voice. "He will never become what Mistoffelees has."

"Stop it!" Macavity struck the side of Celesta's face, knocking her back. "I will not have you stain the name of a thaumaturgist in that manner. His name is Mephistopheles."

"I will never call my son that horrid name," Celesta remained crumpled on the ground. "He may become the next thaumaturgist and overthrow the Jellicles and become ten times as bad as you are, but I will never call him that name."

"Then you will be marked as an enemy and sent back to the hovel I found you in!" Macavity shot back. "And you may think that your precious son will rescue you, that the father of this wreched litter will find you and keep you, but that will never happen." As he continued, Macavity's voice was pure ice. "I will see to that."

* * *

"Your mother never wanted you," Macavity faced Celesta, though he was speaking to the little thaumaturgist behind him. "She hates you, as you heard from her own lips. Mephistopheles, I am your father, the only cat that will ever accept you. You must learn to never trust other cats, for even those you believe love you will never so much as accept you."

He turned to face the tuxedo tom, but was completely taken aback by the sight before his eyes.

Mephistopheles had scooped up the litte white kitten into his paws, gently rocking her back and forth in her mother's absence. Her little paws were pulling at the white fur on his chest, causing him to chuckle.

Macavity moved closer to the two half-siblings, his shadow falling over the two. This caused Mephistopheles to look upwards, blanching under his father's critical gaze.

"Hand over the kitten," Macavity held out a paw.

"What are you going to do to her?" Mephistopheles turned his body so the litte queen was out of sight.

"Does that concern you?" Macavity shot back, surprised at his son's daring.

"No," Mephistopheles shifted uncomfortably, still not doing as Macavity had asked.

It took Macavity mere seconds to see that he had made a mistake in calling Mephistopheles in to hear his mother's tale. The tom was still very young, and although he could be as brutal and merciless as Macavity, he had a soft spot where his mother was concerned. Anything his mother cared for he also cared for. Even after hearing her admit to never wanting him, Mephistopheles still wanted to please her, to keep her kitten safe.

"I am not going to harm the kitten," Macavity said slowly, his paw still extended. Hesitantly, Mephistopheles turned and released the little queen, nudging her gently so she was within Macavity's reach. He picked her up gently, calling in a new henchcat as he did so.

"Bring this litte one to the Jellicles," he said simply. Although the henchcat looked puzzled, he picked up the white queen and exited the lair.

"But why did you do that?" Mephistopheles tugged on his father's arm. "The Jellicles are bad cats."

"Her father was a Jellicle, Mephistopheles," Macavity told the litte tom gently. "She belongs with them, just as you belong with me. Now, I expect you to never speak of that kitten again, are we clear?"

"Yes," Mephistopheles nodded.

"Good," Macavity nodded as well. "Now, I want you to go outside and practice your new levitation spell I taught you." Mephistopheles bobbed his head in a bow and exited.

"My dear," Macavity turned back to Celesta. "I want to teach you a new lesson as well…"

* * *

Macavity was sickened by the sight before him. Two pure white cats were jumping gracefully through the air, the still tiny kitten seeming to have none of the typical clumsiness of cats that age. She followed her father with ease, contorting her body into difficult and elaborate poses.

Both had fluffy white tails that remained eerily still as they moved. Admittedly, their tails moved in time with their bodies, but there was none of the usual flicking movements.

He could smell the happiness on the air. Oh, how he longed to puncture it with his claws, claws that were singing out of hatred.

He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He allowed himself to permeate the joyful aura around the two cats, bringing them to a standstill. He pushed the litte kitten away with his will, making her turn and run as fast as her little paws could carry her into the Jellicle clearing.

But the tom… her father… Keeping him motionless, Macavity pounced on him, teeth sinking deep into the his neck. His mouth overflowed with the blood, dripping down his ginger fur and onto the ground beneath him. The tom's white fur became covered with the sticky liquid, turning crimson.

Macavity began pressing his paws to the tom's fatal wound, covering his claws with blood. Then, in long, sweeping movements, he spread the blood like paint over the tom's body.

By the time he was found, Macavity was long gone. The tom was barely recognizable, covered in dried, brown blood from head to tail.

* * *

_If anyone would like an explanation, let me know. This story is based largely on interpretation and the gaps are filled in as I go, but I have a feeling this chapter was confusing. So if you'd like a detailed and chronological explanation of this story, PM me and I'll send it to you. I have a feeling that leaving the white queen that Macavity gave to Mephisto nameless was a mistake, as was not explaining why I made certain things happen, this and the last chapter in particular..._


End file.
